She has a website now, called “Goop (unfortunate name, right?).” I’m not really certain why she has this site. A public service, perhaps? To teach the rest of us how to live a fabulous life? You know I’m all about that, right? And Gwyneth does seem like someone who has it all “together.” So I’m buying.

I periodically receive emails from the site. I guess I’d signed up for them quite a while ago, when there was no content, and then out of the seemingly blue, I started getting some interesting items: recipes, style tips. But my favorite email thus far has been this week’s, on cleansing and detoxing your body.

My friend L is starting the Master Cleanse on Monday. And she wanted me to do it with her (misery loves company, right?). I thought to myself, “hey self, let’s start the new year off with a cleansed and detoxed body.” And then I checked it out. It’s that creepy cleanse that requires you to live for two weeks on something like lemon juice, cayenne pepper and maple syrup. Really? Can you even survive 2 weeks on that liquid diet? There was no way I was going to agree to suffer though that with L. I actually like food. But I thought about the idea of a cleansing of my system, and it started to sound like a pretty good idea to me. I’ve been overindulgent this holiday season. I’ve put on a few. I’ve actually found myself unbuttoning my jeans as I sit down at the dinner table. And the very next day, I checked my email to find the cleansing and detox plan from Gwyneth (originating from her doctor), and it seemed like more than a coincidence. It seemed fortuitous. The actual plan does not seem to be up on her website yet, which I am finding very irritating, but if you sign up for her newsletter, I’m sure you’ll see it in your inbox this week. It’s definitely worth taking a look at, if you’re interested in cleansing your body of 2008 and preparing it 2009.

So, I begin the cleanse on Monday. It looks manageable. Not much cruelty, really. It’s really the way that I should be eating in the first place, you know? If I had a personal chef, and all. Just kidding. It’s doable, for sure. My husband even signed on. I’ll let you know how it goes…

Coco started her fist class this morning. It was just the two of us, I spent a lot of time taking pictures to document it for her daddy who couldn’t be there with us. She was the youngest in the class and the only one who really isn’t walking, but her excitement at being around other kids really rubbed off on everyone. There was a lot of squealing and a lot of giggling.

Anyway, although the class is geared for 12 – 24 months, it seems a little advanced. There were very elaborate obstacle courses and foot races and a diving pit and balance beams. But we tried it all, the instructor flipped her around a bit and a genuinely good time was had by all. We are so looking forward to next week’s class.

When we got home, Pea was in good spirits. She’d been playing with her ballerina magnetic dress-up dolls with her new sitter, who has been to the house a handful of times in the last month. She’s a sweet girl, loves to play with Pea and her toys. They’re always having tea parties or building railroads or playing hide ‘n seek. I hear them laughing and chatting and Pea gets really excited when it’s time for her sitter to come over. And this afternoon, they even made chocolate-covered pretzels to have at their high tea.

And I really encourage sitters to make themselves at home in our house. I want them to feel comfortable helping themselves to drinks or snacks. And I always want them to feel comfortable talking to my husband and myself about issues or concerns that they might have. And I’m glad that this sitter has followed our lead. She told me after her first afternoon with us that it was the most comfortable she’d ever felt in someone else’s home. And I love that. I take pride in that.

Back to the story… the end of Coco’s class coincided with our normal lunchtime, and since it was late, I brought back lunch for all of us. This is where I started to get a strange feeling. You know, the one you get in the pit of your stomach when something just feels a little “off?” The sitter, after eating her lunch, polished off most of Pea’s dessert before Pea even had a chance to try it. Okay, no big deal, right? Pea didn’t make a stink, and so who cares? Right? But then there was the sitter’s reading of the newspaper on the couch while I was desperately trying to simultaneously get Coco down for her nap and get Pea to take care of her business on her potty. Uh, a little help, please? And then, as I was cleaning up in the kitchen, I swear I heard her say to my sweet little Pea, “go over there… no, over there… Your breath is humid and I don’t want you breathing on me.”

What?

Have I made her feel a little bit too comfortable in my home?

Am I nuts for being so weirded out by this very odd statement to a not-even-three year old? Should I let it go? It just seemed such a bizarre thing to say to a little kid. In front of her mother.

Here’s the deal. For Father’s Day last year, I bought my husband a Gorillapod flexible tripod. He travels a lot and has a ridiculously fancy camera. The tripod will practically fit in his pocket. It’s flexible and wraps around just about anything to help you take a remote picture. But you know how we took this picture? With his camera wedged between two branches on a little tree. Nice…

But I bit the bullet and bought “Skinny Bitch.” And I am pleased to say that I was way off base about it, just based on the title. You know, judging a book by it’s cover? That’s what I was doing. But I’m glad that I finally decided to give it a try. It is not at all what I thought it was going to be. It’s about food. Namely, any and everything you have ever put into your mouth. And although I’m not quite finished with it, I cannot put it down. It seems the best way to describe it would be as a book that tears to shreds any idea you might have had about nutrition and farming and ranching and the FDA and lobbyists and the government and what is and isn’t organic and wow! The wealth of shocking revelations in this book just come at you, rapid-fire. It is sad and infuriating and has left me somewhat speechless and definitely blindsided. And I can take it with that proverbial grain of salt. Please do not feel the need to defend farming and ranching. My own husband’s family are cattle ranchers here, in rural Texas. I know that the horrors described in this book are not taking into account each and every farming operation. I know there are those that are really wonderful and safe and clean and good. I know that. But I will say that as someone who has a keen interest in nutrition and health and just food in general, I think my world as I have known it has been shaken to it’s core.

I know there are vegans out there. And I’m still trying to decide if ultimately that is the path for me. But I can say this: I am a vegetarian. This is it for me. But veganism? Is it really feasible if you don’t live in a large city, like LA or Chicago or Manhattan, where you can pop into any one of a dozen vegan restaurants? Because I really like to eat out and I just don’t know if it’s possible to really, really do it. Are there any vegans out there? What do you do when you eat out? Or someone invites you to their home for dinner? Do you announce beforehand that you are a vegan? Because it’s so much more specific than being a vegetarian. As a vegetarian, you can walk into any restaurant and order a garden salad and some oil and vinegar and know that you are covered. But as a vegan, do you have to question every single item on a menu? Or in a dish on someone’s dining room buffet? I mean, it might look safe, but what if it was cooked in chicken broth? Are you now that annoying person that no one wants to eat with because you are just… so… difficult? Because I am not interested in being that person. I am not comfortable having to pick everything apart to figure out if I can consume it or not. Can you be a foodie and a vegan at the same time?

Recently, her GP told her to look into making the switch to a vegan lifestyle. Her doctor feels that with her particular medical history, a menu which does not contain animal by-products would really be best for her. She’s just started fairly recently, so I’m curious to see where it takes her. But I might also add in here that my brother is also a vegan. I don’t know the particulars of his reason to adhere to something so extreme, but I do know that he read a book called “Skinny Bitch” that scared his meat cravings right out of him. I should add here that I’m fairly certain the book was his girlfriend’s, and out of curiosity he picked it up and became hooked.

Now myself, I love books. Not necessarily “self-help” books, but books about diet, nutrition and general health are particular favorites of mine. And so my mother recommended that I start by reading Dr. Oz’s newest, called “You: Staying Young: The Owner’s Manual for Extending Your Warranty (You).” I bought my copy today and intend to start it this evening. She said it’s a good precursor to the book that she really wants me to read, called “Food For Life: How the New Four Food Groups Can Save Your Life.” My mother is convinced that my illnesses in the past year or so directly correlate to my diet. And although I swear I eat pretty well, I know what she means. I eat too much meat, too much dairy. As a kid, I was deathly allergic to milk , so when I outgrew the allergy, I might have gone a little overboard. But I had a lot of time to make up for. Can you imagine as a kid, going to a birthday party and not being able to have cake? As a matter of fact, in elementary school, my best friend Lyssa’s birthday party was at her father’s gourmet chocolate shop at the Water Tower Place mall in Chicago. As party favors, all the kids took home giant blocks of chocolate in the shape of their first name’s initial. Me? I took home a bag of lollipops. And then, there were all the summer’s of popsicles when other kids were eating ice cream cones. It was not a lot of fun.

To this day, I know I consume far too much dairy. Ask me my favorite food? I will tell you cheese. Just cheese. Any kind of cheese will do.

My stomach kind of hurts just thinking about that one.

Anyway, I’m not sure how this is all going to work out for me. To be honest, I am a firm believer that bacon makes everything taste better. But I’m willing to give it a try because these last few months in particular have been hell on me. I’ll see where it takes me, but for now? I’ve just made the vow to cut red meat and poultry out of my diet. I want to see if it’s manageable and also if I’m going to feel the effects of it in a positive way, before I commit to anything else more intense.

But I don’t want it to be this way any longer. Honestly, being around someone as tightly wound as I can be, at times, can’t be a lot of fun. So I’ve been toying with the idea of trying yoga. Again. And before you roll your eyes and make some comment about the cliche of it all, let me add here that yoga and I have been skirting one another closely for years, due to the close relationship between other family members and it.

My father has made a living out of the fitness industry. He’s a brilliant businessman and has always been one step ahead of the current exercise trends. In the 80s, it was aerobics, in the 90s it was yoga. A friend turned him onto Hatha as a way to deal with chronic back-pain he’d been suffering with for decades. And it worked. So he did what any person would do. He bought a series of yoga studios in and around New York City. But he was too far ahead of the pack at this point, so he ended up selling them off, keeping just one “wellness” center. I guess it was too difficult at that point to turn a good profit. But in the interim, he became certified himself as an instructor and now teaches specialized yoga classes for cancer patients and survivors. Pretty cool, if you knew my dad. He’s so straight. No bends. And he’s a yogi. Have to laugh at that. So you see, yoga and I know each other well. Over the years, there have been lots of classes at my father’s studios, lots of private sessions with his instructors, and I just never took to it. I’m competitive by nature, I can make a contest out of any situation, and although I know it’s not the most lovable quality about me, I cannot stop it. It’s the way I’m wired. And when you add my father into the mix, it’s one big game. Who is the better skier? Who runs the fastest? Who can bend the bend-iest? And so yoga, with all of it’s “do what’s right for you-ness” just didn’t cut it. So I’d pick up the practice and then let go of it. Repeat, ad nauseam.

But now? I’m trying again. I’m coming at it from a different angle, too. It’s not for fitness. That’s just an added benefit. It’s for peace of mind. Ahhh. Peace of mind. Something I have not had in years, maybe never. We’ve hired a part-time nanny to come in on Fridays to help out and while she’s here you’ll find me at the nearest yoga studio. Working on peace of mind.

Pea, at about one, doing downward-facing dog. Not really, but it looks like it, right?

I was on the eating plan from Body After Baby for about a week. But whoa, I cannot live on steamed broccoli, brown rice and salmon. Ugh. And 15 raw almonds is a snack? Please. I love food way too much to stick to a plan like that. Although I will readily admit that I learned quite a bit about not only portion sizes but nutrition in general. Honestly, though? I’d rather have two mouse-sized bites of a gourmet white pizza baked in a real brick oven than all of the steamed broccoli in the world. Enough said.

In the first full week on WW, I have lost close to two pounds. And this was with a pretty hefty amount of “cheating.” I figured if I didn’t log it on my food journal, than surely I didn’t really digest it, right? Must work on that this week. NO CHEATING. Well, maybe just a little.

But I know this is a topic that so many moms are constantly thinking about. How the heck to you get enough food into your system to keep up with the demands of motherhood, hands down the most challenging job out there, when you are busy with the day-to-day of raising a family? Sometimes all I’m going to get to eat at lunch is the three left-over bites of my daughter’s Annie’s Shells & White Cheddar mac & cheese. As long as I know what the points value is on that, I really know I’m going to be OK.

Now that I really sit here and think about where I am physically, I understand why I don’t want to venture outside right now. It’s because I’m ashamed of myself. And I know, having a baby is a big deal, 9 months up and 9 months down, blah blah blah… but there is no excuse for my laziness! I have a toddler who goes to bed at 7 and sleeps straight through until 7 the next morning and an infant who sleeps up to 7 hours at a stretch, so technically I don’t suffer from that new mom exhaustion I thought I’d be facing. THERE IS JUST NO EXCUSE ANYMORE. I must take better care of myself.

I ordered “Body After Baby” and “Buff Moms“, and according to both authors, I am not a lost cause. That is good news, I was beginning to think I was. I don’t want to be that mom – you know the one – who acts like a martyr in her sacrificing of her own self for her kids. I mean, I love being a mom, adore my girls, but what am I teaching them when they are turned out so beautifully all of the time, and I am still schlubbing around in the gray velour sweatpants (size large!) that I bought at TJ Maxx during my pregnancy? (Dirty little secret – I wash these pants EVERY NIGHT and wear them EVERY DAY. One single pair of pants. They are frayed at the bottoms and the seams are worn and I must throw them out.) So, it is time. It is time to get my act together, make some effort and regain my old self – all 115 pounds of her. I have two pairs of new Paige Premium Denim jeans in my closet in my old size, never worn still with the tags on them, and I am dying to wear them out in public – sans the muffin top! Wish me luck!